Prince Philip’s car crash illustrates how the rest of us pay for the recklessness of the privileged

BBC treats Diane Abbott and other Corbyn allies with contempt. We need to reform the media now

McDonald's must stop breeding chickens so fast that their organs fail

Newspapers are mocking Beautiful Boy, but it is the first film which accurately reflects what I have been through with addiction

If Theresa May calls another election, prepare for a ‘short and sharp’ manifesto

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The other evening I put my hand on a man’s arm. And he recoiled. It was a meaningless gesture, done in the moment to emphasis a point. He’s a big guy and someone I have known for years. (The big guy bit is irrelevant really, serving only to give you the full comical impact of said recoil).

Had I touched him, uninvited, in the past? I don’t know. It’s entirely possible. I tend to get rather animated when I talk. This can manifest itself in, though is not limited to: slaps on the back, pats on the forearm and very occasionally deep, all-enveloping hugs. I certainly don’t ever recall having seen the same look of panic spread across this man’s face in the way it did this evening, however. But then I haven’t seen him since 2016. And a lot has changed in that time.

The year of women

Because if the last 12 months will be remembered for anything it’s the women’s movement. Precipitated by the Women’s Marches that cursed through the streets of every global city on 21 January, this is a movement whose momentum has been galvanised by more sexual misconduct and exploitative male behaviour than a Lars Von Trier box set.

Protesters walk during the Women’s March on Washington in January 2017. (Photo by Mario Tama/Getty Images)

In the last nine months alone women – scared women, frustrated women, poor women, young women, women who for the last 20 years have had no voice and certainly no power – have taken down some of the most influential men in the world. It has been a boon for all of us: helping to flush out locker-room talk, silencing banter and holding to account every predatory male who has ever pursed his spitty lips in our direction, whilst muttering something deeply suggestive that we never asked for.

We have always known that a society run as equally by men as it is by women is a better place for all. The very things which, generally speaking, define female behaviour – our capacity for nurture, empathy and high social intelligence – are in fact what the modern economy now demands. You only have to look at the financial crisis of 2008 to realise that a world run overwhelmingly by male aggression and risk-taking doesn’t work.

Lost in a new landscape

But during times of pivotal change human beings can behave in mysterious ways as we find ourselves navigating a strange new landscape without a map. You will have seen this by the hysteria that has bubbled up across offices and Christmas parties this year.

‘Is it still okay for us to call men “hot”?’

Men – decent, smart, supportive men (of which, let’s be clear, there are many) – whisper about feeling “frightened”. The warlocking of their innocent peers across social media has them on edge. “If you’re not an abuser, then you have nothing to worry about…” “helpful” eggs shout from across the Twitter warzone. To which they would reply, if they weren’t so scared of having their entire reputation demolished by Whatsapp, “yes, but define abuse”. To which the eggs will hurl: “If you’re asking that question then you are an abuser!” And on it goes…

Is the kiss at the end of an email a sign of libidinous, abusive intent or just the lexicographical equivalent of a big, warm smile? Are hugs between male and female friends okay now? Or does it depend on the time of day and placement of hands (bear hugs around the neck being passable, waists being borderline and crawly hands that pitter-patter towards buttocks particularly at the end of the night being, well, harassment. But most men should know this). Men are going through their own self-questioning crisis at the minute – and that, inarguably, is a good thing.

Why I don’t have naked men in Cosmo

But here’s the other side of the story. What about us? Is it still okay for us to call men “hot”? Still totally acceptable for women to say things like “Tom Jones must be a killer in the sack” as Kirsty Young once enthusiastically volunteered on Women’s Hour.

Given that we’ve been the oppressed sex for so many years does that mean rampant use of kisses, hugs, taps on arms and sexually suggestive texts are fine if sent from a woman? And what about the feminist memes that are currently doing the rounds? (Have you seen the one with the crying toddler captioned: BOYS! UGH!) If we saw this level of outright sexism being deployed in the other direction would we be okay with that? Should my friend have recoiled when I touched his arm? Or should I have thought twice before reaching for human, uninvited contact.

Change can be messy, and both parties can get it wrong in their desperate quest to move things along. But in my experience it only ever works if both parties are willing to stumble through it together, willing to honour the same codes and willing not to demonise one another if either of us gets it wrong along the way. This is the reason why last year I pulled Cosmopolitan’s Naked Centrefold, which used to feature naked men. Objectification goes both ways, whether we are prepared to acknowledge that or not.

Because get it wrong we will. But it’s how we come together when things don’t go as we all planned that determines the success of the outcome.

This week I’ve been..

Attending

This year Cosmo opened houses across the capital for young career women who want to work in the creative industries but are struggling with the capital’s merciless rent. It’s one of the things I’m most proud of and this week the team and I turned up to throw them a Christmas party. I haven’t been to a house party in years. I think I may have enjoyed it more than them.

Reading

The Vanity Fair Diaries by Tina Brown – a wonderful, flashy romp through 80s New York and the monumental turnaround she did of this now iconic magazine.

In one of my first weeks on the job editing Cosmopolitan I met Tina. A huge swathe of my inherited team had just resigned and I, too, had been tasked with overhauling the magazine. It was a tough, demoralising time. She leaned forward and very generously recounted to me the torturous time she had had at The New Yorker, how she had been called “Stalin in Heels” and how she had walked into a world of male tweed and intellectual superiority waiting for her to fail. She did not fail, and we eventually took Cosmo back to the number one women’s magazine. But her “lean in” moment at that time was crucial.

Viewing

Dunkirk. Late to the party with this one but I watched it on the plane back from New York this week. It’s as devastating as it is brilliant. We live not far from the Kentish coast where many of the civilian rescue boats set sail to rescue the men. After watching the film I did some digging around and discovered that the heath on which I walk my dogs every weekend was where 15,000 Dunkirk soldiers lay awaiting treatment. I tread the ground in a different way now.

Prince Philip’s car crash illustrates how the rest of us pay for the recklessness of the privileged

BBC treats Diane Abbott and other Corbyn allies with contempt. We need to reform the media now

McDonald's must stop breeding chickens so fast that their organs fail

Newspapers are mocking Beautiful Boy, but it is the first film which accurately reflects what I have been through with addiction

If Theresa May calls another election, prepare for a ‘short and sharp’ manifesto

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